September 2, 2001
Caroline came home from school today chattering non-stop about a new boy she met on the playground. His name's Ayaan Saltzman. One year older than her, apparently Bonnie and Elena already know him.
She says he's quiet, "serious," and doesn't laugh much, but she liked playing with him anyway. Caroline's words — "He is very smart mom, he knows everything!"
I smiled and encouraged her.
God knows she needs friends outside the shallow little circles she builds. But the name struck me — Saltzman. I remembered hearing it before. And sure enough, later it's on the agenda for the Council meeting.
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September 10, 2001
Sometimes the Council makes me wonder if we've all gone insane. Tonight was one of those nights. I need to constantly remind myself who's sitting at that table with me:
- Richard Lockwood – Mayor. Wears authority like a crown. His wife Carol plays the dutiful hostess, but her eyes miss nothing. Their family's temper runs hot.
- Logan Fell – Fell family face. Reporter, opportunist, always sniffing for dirt. Council only trusts him as far as his ambitions.
- Zach Salvatore – Quiet, cautious. Lives in that old Boarding House alone. Protective of his family's name, and it shows.
- Grayson Gilbert – Doctor, rationalist, always bringing "medical" explanations to supernatural problems. Miranda at his side, gentler, more patient.
- Me, Liz Forbes – Sheriff, law and order. Bill's absence from Council doesn't go unnoticed, but no one asks why.
These families have guarded Mystic Falls for generations. And now, we're talking about a ten-year-old boy as though he's a weapon. Sheila Bennett's newly adopted grandson/disciple.
Today we have to decide how to go about this situation, but frankly I feel like the council is exaggerating things here. How could a 10-year-old possibly threaten the peaceful life of Mystic Falls.
Moreover, If we dared to do anything unreasonable against Sheila's disciple, she warned, the Council would lose their support forever. She even raised her voice — I've never seen her do that. And all this… over a boy she's only had in her care for a month.
Council has convened to decide the boy had to be evaluated. Questioned. Tested. And the task fell to me.
Sheriff Liz Forbes. Ordered to interrogate a ten-year-old child.
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September 15, 2001
It all started with paperwork.
Sheila Bennett walked into Richard Lockwood's office last month to register the boy — Ayaan Saltzman — for school. Said his parents were gone, said she'd taken him in as her ward. Brought all the legal forms too, neat as you like. On the surface, it was just another orphan's sad story.
But in Mystic Falls, there are no coincidences.
The Council started sniffing around the moment she left City Hall. Where had he been before? Atlanta, supposedly, with some uncle who couldn't keep him. That checked out enough, but it was the other details that raised eyebrows:
The boy's mother tied distantly to the Bennett line. His grandmother from India, rumored to have carried old-world witchcraft.
Ayaan himself — whispered to have healed a bad sprain on the playground within seconds. Kids talk, teachers repeat, and before long, it was on the Council's table.
That's why we were called. Not because of what Sheila said in the Mayor's office, but because of what she didn't.
She told Richard he was just a child. But when pressed, she admitted he had "talents." Then she dared us to doubt her — said the Bennetts had always been neutral, always loyal, and if we couldn't trust her word, then we could do without her entirely.
That's what sparked the fire. Not the boy himself, but Sheila's defiance.
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Mystic Falls Sheriff's Station — September 2001
Liz Forbes:[soft voice, leaning forward]"Hi there, Ayaan. I'm Liz. You can just call me Liz, okay? I know this place isn't much fun for kids. So let's start easy… what's your favorite subject in school?"
Ayaan:[blank stare, steady tone]"Are you asking me as the Sheriff, or as Caroline's mother?"
Liz:[blinks, caught off guard]"…Both, I suppose."
Ayaan: "Then I'll answer both. I like history. Because it remembers what people forgot. And I like science. Because it explains what people pretend not to see."
Liz:[tries to recover, forcing a smile] "Pretty big answers for someone your age. Don't you like sports? Or games?"
Ayaan:[flatly] "I play because it keeps my body strong. That's all. I don't play games for fun."
Liz:[frowning slightly, tone sharper] "Most kids do."
Ayaan:[measured pause] "I'm not most kids."
Liz:[sighs, shifting tack] "Alright. Then let's talk about what happened at the football field. People say you helped one of the boys who was hurt. A sprain, I think?"
Ayaan:[nods once] "Tyler twisted his ankle. It was swelling. I touched it, focused, and the swelling stopped. The pain went away. He was running again in minutes."
Liz:[leaning forward, cautious] "And how exactly did you do that?"
Ayaan:[voice calm, detached — as if reading from a report] "I'm a healer. I can close small wounds. Mend bruises. Soothe sprains. If someone is bleeding badly, I can slow it down — but not stop it. Not yet. If someone is dying, I can't bring them back. My reach is small. My strength is small."
Liz:[studying him] "You say that so… directly? Aren't you afraid people will gossip? What if they call you a liar?"
Ayaan:[looks her in the eye, blunt] "I don't practice lies. I don't need to. If the Council asks again, I'll say the same: `I am a Healer`."
Liz pauses. She has interrogated liars, thieves, even killers. They twist, they dodge, they hide. But this boy? He doesn't squirm. He doesn't brag. He doesn't carry the arrogance she's seen in vampires or the quiet superiority of witches. He just sits there, still, speaking of miracles like he's describing arithmetic homework.
Liz:[quietly, almost to herself] "You don't sound like a boy who's afraid of consequences."
Ayaan:[innocently, smirk] "Why would I be? Healing doesn't hurt."
Liz leans back, unsettled. The words should sound naive. But his composure makes them feel… final.
She can't tell if it's the wisdom of an old soul, or just a child who doesn't know enough to be afraid.
---
September 20, 2001 — Council Report Email
Subject: Ayaan Saltzman
Age: 10 (biological)
Guardian: Sheila Bennett
Observation: The boy admits to being a Healer. Powers limited to minor injuries (sprains, bruises, shallow wounds). Cannot handle life-threatening damage. Displays no aggression, no arrogance, no signs of malice.
Behavior: Mature for age, blunt in communication. Responded directly to all questions without hesitation or evasion. Displays no inclination to secrecy.
Assessment: Non-threatening. Useful against hidden calamities. Potential future asset to Council security. Worth winning over.
Recommendation: Monitor closely. Do not antagonize Sheila Bennett.
Signed, Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes
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October 2001 — Journal Entry
I told them the boy was non-threatening. That was the truth.
But I left out one part. He wasn't afraid of us either. Not even a little.
His final look was as if he was also analyzing me; and by the looks of it, he also found us to be "non-threatening".
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Liz Forbes' Journal — Council Years (2002–2006)
— March 2002 — The Bridge Incident
A jogger drained near Wickery Bridge. No tracks, no witnesses. We would have written it off as random violence.
Ayaan walked the scene, bent down, touched the dried blood in the dirt. For a moment, the ground itself seemed to darken under his hand. He whispered: "This wasn't quick. He was made to bleed slow. The marks are too shallow. Someone wanted him to suffer."
When I pressed him, he placed his palm on the victim's body. The torn flesh quivered — then briefly closed, just enough to reveal the shape of the bite. Two punctures, shallow, deliberate. Vampire.
He shouldn't have been able to do that. But he did. And we caught one two nights later, just where he said to look — in the hollow tree line by Wickery Bridge.
Ten years old, and he didn't flinch.
— October 2002 — The Founders' Ball
Carol Lockwood fainted mid-speech. Panic spread like wildfire. Ayaan, in his little suit, walked through the crowd, pressed two fingers against her wrist, and whispered something soft. She gasped once — then her pulse steadied.
Later, he carved his first Yantra into the Lockwood porch beam. The very next day, Carol swore her chest felt lighter, her sleep deeper.
Within a month, every Council home had one. The Lockwoods, the Gilberts, the Fells — even Zach Salvatore asked quietly for his.
We don't admit it publicly, but we all sleep easier because of that boy's chalk and blood.
— July 2003 — Roanoke Case
A body in Roanoke, bruised neck, nothing to go on. They asked the Sheriff of Mystic Falls to "consult."
Richard sent me. And Ayaan.
At the morgue, he asked for a minute alone with the victim. I watched through the glass. He touched the neck, and the purple bruises lightened just enough to reveal the true strangulation marks underneath. Then, with a sharp breath, the wounds resealed.
He turned to me and said: "He wasn't killed here. He ran first. His shoes will have mud, not river water."
He was right. Again.
On the ride home, I told him about Bill. About how I couldn't reach him anymore, how he was slipping away. He didn't even blink when he said, "Maybe he likes boys." Innocent. Blunt. No malice. And yet, I believed him. A year later, Bill was gone.
I'm a grown woman, the Sheriff of Mystic Falls. And somehow, I confessed to a twelve-year-old boy.
— April 2004 — The Lockwood Barn
Cows drained of blood. Richard raged.
Ayaan walked the barn once, pressed his palm to a carcass. The punctures closed, the veins blackened, then revealed faint compulsion lines around the wounds. He didn't just heal the animal — he showed us the predator's hand.
We caught a feral vampire the next night, crouched in the hay. Richard was shaken. I was too. Not because we caught it — but because Ayaan treated it like a solved riddle.
He's only twelve.
— October 2005 — Gilbert House
Miranda Gilbert whispered of voices in the night. Grayson dismissed it as stress.
Ayaan traced his fingers across the beams of the house, murmured something in Sanskrit. He then drew a Yantra into the porch wood. The voices stopped.
Miranda wept, hugged him like a son. Elena, at the stairs, watched with wide eyes. That was the first night I knew she would fall for him one day.
And God help us all when she does.
— February 2006 — The Classroom Attack
A substitute teacher collapsed, throat torn. Children screamed.
Ayaan stood at the front, calm. Drew a Yantra on the doorframe with chalk pulled from his pocket. The moment he finished, the children went quiet. Like the fear had been lifted from them. Deputies found the vampire hiding in the janitor's closet minutes later.
Afterward, I asked him if he was afraid. He said: "I don't have time to be afraid."
He was fourteen.
— December 2006 — Council Deliberations
It's official now: Ayaan Saltzman has a seat at the table. Not as a child to be monitored, but as an advisor. Richard listens to him. Grayson asks his opinion before declaring medical theories. Carol calls him a "blessing."
His Yantra keep our homes safe. His healer's touch saves our people. His insight closes cases weeks before evidence catches up.
And now the whispers begin. That if Ayaan stays in Mystic Falls, if his line takes root, then his family should be added among the Founders.
The unthinkable.
Because the truth is, having a supernatural at our side makes our lives easier. For the first time in years, we're not just surviving Mystic Falls. We're controlling it.
But I can't shake the question: before Ayaan, the town was quiet. Since Ayaan, every season bleeds.
Is he our salvation… or the reason we need saving at all?